


What Was the Question?

by missingyou



Series: adventures of bruce and clark's firsts [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Feels, First Date, First date Jitters, M/M, Nerves, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bruce is going through it, bruce is nervous, clark has never been happier, which is a first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingyou/pseuds/missingyou
Summary: They finally have their first date, and it goes...well.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: adventures of bruce and clark's firsts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953964
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	What Was the Question?

**Author's Note:**

> I really like this one!

The palm of his hand shook as he adjusted his collar, his limber fingers scratching softly against his neck. He could feel his teeth instinctively clench, his body trying to assess the overwhelming emotions coursing through him as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There were so many loose trails of thought roaming his mind, and he wondered, intensely so, if this was a good idea. 

It would be easy, he thought, to run back to the cave and simply postpone as a result of patrol. But, even as the idea crossed his mind with genuine consideration, all he could visualize were the empty blue eyes, the small frown, and the soft mumble of agreement he'd receive because of it.

Shit, he thought. His usually poised fingers shook even more as he began to tie his tie. 

"Nervous, Master Bruce?"

The billionaire couldn't make eye contact with his butler. There would be no reason for him to be nervous. This was simply a date, something he'd experienced many times before, with a longtime friend and teammate. Why would he ever be anything but collected?

"Because, Master Bruce, you're emotionally attached."

_Telepathy._

"No, I simply know too well how your mind functions." Alfred chuckled, folding towels against the large marble counter of the bathroom. There were two dim lamps lighting the large ensuite, and Bruce stood before the vanity and stared at his reflection, blood rushing through his veins as he became hyper aware of his increasing heartbeat. The older man stood just behind him, stocking the large room with its usual amenities. The emotionally unavailable man bit the inside of his cheek, unable to entertain his friend with a response.

Emotionally attached. The fear the words brought was scarily infuriating, and he tried to dissolve the rock building in his gut.

"Don't freak out now, we both know this is necessary."

"An excuse for a distraction, that's what this is."

"So, did you agree to this young man to simply stand him up thirty five minutes prior?"

"Would it make much of a difference if I did?" Dragging a hand through his hair, Bruce practically undid all the styling he'd done before. It wouldn't, he thought, he was already known as an asshole to the rest of the league, and so having Clark think so too would simply complete the puzzle. He clenches his jaw harder than before, and shifts his gaze to anywhere but the mirror.

 _Pathetic,_ he could hear Jason say, _p_ _athetic excuse you are for a man._

"See this as a break, Master Bruce, even for a couple of hours."

Why did that worsen his emotional state even more? Perhaps because now he knew that work wasn't even an excuse to distract his mind anymore. He placed his hands on the counter, clenching the edge of it as he let his black hair cover his face. He could hear Alfred move around in the back before leaving, shutting the door gently. 

"Bruce?"

He lifted his gaze at the soft call of his name, and through the large mirror he saw his soon-to-be date standing by the bathtub, leaning against the large porcelain. The anxious man couldn't help but drag his hand down his face as he took a deep breath, unable to look back up at Clark for the mere reason that he was utterly _breathtaking_. His perfect build was covered with a red and brown plaid shirt (that would normally be atrocious if not accessorized with a certain Kansas charm) and a pair of dark denim jeans that hugged his perfectly shaped legs. Perched on his nose where the infamous cheap, non prescription, Clark Kent glasses that magnified his emotion filled eyes. His small curl falling over his forehead as it always did.

Bruce shut his eyes momentarily, digesting the cologne infiltrating his senses.

"You're early."

Clark gave a half smile as a response, "I had a feeling I should check up on you." 

Bruce stayed silent, unable to formulate a proper response. This should be easier, but alas his nerves refused to cease. Dealing with emotions like these, with such intensity, was something unfamiliar to him. He absolutely despised his lack of control over the situation; the ball was completely in Clark's court, and the vulnerability was causing him to lose his mind.

"You look really nice, B."

"I think I overdressed."

On the contrary to Clark's own appearance, Bruce was completely decked down in one of his most expensive suits. Every piece of fabric completely catered to him as it fit his body perfectly. His dress shirt made of silk, draped perfectly as the beginning buttons revealed his hairless chest. His navy Brunello Cucinelli suit jacket laid on the Italian marble beside him. He heard Clark laugh, the sound hearty and echoing both literally and figuratively, because the minute Bruce heard it, it felt like he was being thrown a life line.

As though he'd been drowning, and Clark had lifted him from the dark water and allowed him to breathe fresh air in the morning sun.

"Clark, I don't think-" He was immediately flipped around, his lower body pressed against the vanity and his hands instinctively landing on the taller man's chest. Clark was inches from him, his breath fanning over his face and all of a sudden all he could register was Clark and only him. His shaken eyes stared at Bruce, gaze shifting from his own to his lips. 

"Don't quit this before you even start." And the man, much gentler then before, turned Bruce again and made him stare right into the mirror. The contrasts were even greater than when they were at a distance, the farm boy's humbled appearance in comparison to his own. They were complete opposites, and why did that bother him so much?

"We wouldn't work, Clark." he spoke bitterly, "There's no point in wasting our time here."

"I'm a little offended that's how you see this," and Bruce closed his eyes, "But, Bruce, we can work. You have to compromise with me, first, though."

_"You promised me one, please give me that."_

* * *

* * *

It was a burger place, he acknowledged, and simply stared at the neon lights of the diner.

"You could've told me to change." The red lights reflected off and onto them, Clark's smile bright with the overcast of red. It was a chilly night, to which Bruce accessorized his suit with an overcoat and scarf, while Clark stayed in his flannel. They were in the middle of town, a Metropolis exit just a block away and the entrance of Gotham on the other side. Perfectly in the middle, and he didn't want to read into it, yet allowed a small smile on his face as he looked at the other.

"It wouldn't have been as authentic if I did."

"You just want to see me eat fast food in my suit," Bruce shook his head, and Clark bit his lip.

"Well, I can't say that hasn't crossed my mind-"

"I cannot believe humiliating me is humorous to you." He scoffed, his chest feeling awfully light as he kept staring at his date's smile. The smile and the glasses; they'll be the death of him.

"Really? You just realized that now? World's Greatest Detective my ass."

"You're even more of an idiot than I thought if you don't think I have Kryptonite stored in my suit right now."

"That's what that bulge was? I thought you were just happy to see me." The Kansas boy smirk, the glint in his eye revealing how he knew he'd won. Bruce huffed as a petulant would, and moved into the restaurant with a word. He could faintly hear, over the entrance bell's ding, Clark laughing his ass off outside, to which he scowled at. The diner was beautiful in its own way; straight from the 80's there was vinyl everywhere, soft music playing, and checkered tables and red leather booths from left to right. He felt like a kid again, when his parents would take him out to eat.

(It was why he didn't eat fast food, besides the nutritional value, because everything would always remind him of late night with his father at the office. They'd pick his mother up and travel the town for a new place to eat. Except now, now all he could think of was how spot-on Clark nailed it.)

"I know," he felt his presence, a hand placed on his waist, "Call me a nail right? Cause I hit it on the head."

"Oh wow," the vigilante couldn't conceal his disappointment, "At what point does it stop, Kent?"

He turned his head to his right, ready to see Clark, only to immediately lock eyes with him. Had he been staring at him this whole time?

"I don't think it ever will." The Kryptonian mumbled, looking at Bruce's lips before smiling so wide his eyes crinkled. Reaching around his shoulders, ever the gentleman, Clark helped Bruce remove his coat. "Now come on, we aren't here to just stand around and _not_ try their burgers."

"Of course I apologize."

"Good."

The meal was surprisingly spectacular, and at the first bite Bruce furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief. 

"I told you!" Clark exclaimed, drinking his milkshake as he awaited the other's reaction. He'd tried to keep his cool, but he didn't think it was possible to stop smiling. Bruce was utterly himself in the moment, with the minutes passing his resolve seemed to fall, yet everything the other did naturally seemed calculated. It's a part of his nature, the investigative reporter felt immense pride...as though Bruce was his to be proud of.

_Almost._

The nearly indestructible man simply watched. Watched the other grab his burger, watched the other take a bite before chewing with prevalent focus, and simply laid back, shake completely abandoned, as he licked his lips and brought a napkin to his mouth. Completely, entirely, wholly beautiful. With every action, he proved to be simply superior. He could already imagine Bruce's response.

 _"A super-powered alien telling me that. Very accurate and unbiased_ _judgement coming from you Clark."_

"How're you feeling?"

"Might need a new suit after this," _Always about his suits, Bat or not._

"Put it on my salary."  
  
"Clark-"

"For real, I'll owe that much." He smiled brightly, happy he could finally offer Bruce a return of favors. He doesn't think Bruce realizes juts how happy he made him by simply saying yes that night.

"My shirt alone costs five grand."

"You know what? I'll pay the meal and leave the rest to you. Suits are too personal anyways, how will I know your taste?"

Bruce cracked a small smile at that, and took a sip of his water before speaking again, "How's it been lately?"

"Nope, no work talk."

"How did you know I was referring-"

"Bruce."

"Clark."

And they both broke out into smiles, Bruce looking like his regular self when he was at Galas or in public, except this time it wasn't a facade, and there was some genuine joy and amusement behind his usually guarded eyes.

_For me, Clark thought, this sight is reserved solely for me._

* * *

* * *

They were walking down the deserted roads, having left the diner at around three in the morning. Side by side, Clark's hand brushing past Bruce's every couple seconds, they simply settled in the greatness of the night. 

Tall buildings surrounded them, lights dim on the streets as they strolled down with no worries whatsoever. Anyone with a sense of the city would think they were a couple of idiots, because they were much too near Gotham to be completely safe at this time of night. But, in the moment, though they were supposed to be regular civilians, the pair had no regard for any sense of danger that might linger the dark streets.

Riveting, Bruce thought, to roam the town without any ulterior motives around company he found himself comfortable in.

Was this it then? His answer? He simply looked at the man beside him, and analyzed his long lashes flutter against his chiseled cheekbones.

And like that, Clark grinned before grabbing Bruce's hand. Just like that.

"I told you." The ecstatic reporter mumbled underneath his breath, "How does it feel to be wrong for once?"

"Terrible. How do you do it?"

"Hey, what is that supposed to mean?" He brought his other hand to his chest, mocking offense as Bruce smirked at him.

"Clark you're wrong more than seventy percent of the time-"  
  
"Not true."

Bruce sighed, subconsciously trying to let go of the other's hand as his initial reaction was to drag it down his face in disappointment. Except, Clark held it tighter, not wanting to let go. The usually stoic man felt his breath hitch the smallest bit before he gained control again, and he clench his jaw in effort not to smile.

"I don't even care at this point," His super strength nearly compressing Bruce's hand as he grew overjoyed, "I was right when it really matters, and that's now."

"Is that so?" And the taller man was slowly backing the billionaire into the nearby wall. The raven haired man narrowed his eyes, controlling his steady breaths as his partner came closer, and a warmth filled his entire being the longer he stared into Clark's blue eyes. They stood, Bruce's overcoat against the brick wall of whatever building they were on, in each other's embrace; Clark holding the other by the waist, and Bruce's hands crossed over his chest as he remained unimpressed.

"Really, Boy Scout? On the first date?"

The Kansas man chuckled, his breath fanning against the playboy's face. He leaned his forehead against Bruce's, and simply closed his eyes for a split second.

There was a feeling coursing through him...relief, joy, ease. He'd been chasing him for so long, and he's supposed at one point it felt like he was chasing the clouds. But now, he finally held him in his hands, was allowed to do so in the first place, and simply took in what was occurring. This was the moment he had been waiting for, right? The compression, the small tightness in his chest that had been with him for so long, finally unraveled.

He fluttered his eyes open as Bruce kissed the corner of his mouth, and he couldn't resist moving one of his hands to the prominent jawline of his partner, and turning his head to a slight angle before sealing their kiss. 

It was everything he'd imagined it would be. Bruce tasted of mint, his expensive cologne completely surrounding the entirety of him, and his lips were soft, only the tiniest bit chapped as a result of the cool air. Clark restrained himself, immensely so, and simply rubbed circles on the other's hip bone as he attempted to keep it an innocent kiss.

Except Bruce put a hand in his hair, tugged on the soft strands, and showed Clark just how far he wanted to take it.

He had to pull back.

"No, this is not-" He couldn't focus, Bruce leaving soft trails of kisses on his jaw and the Kryptonian, his hands dragged against the silk of the other's shirt, attempted to put his two sense in. But, the minute he felt the vigilante's perfectly sculpted-

"Now, how can a man like you _not_ tell me no?" Bruce laughed, and one hand went from his shoulder to dragging his index finger down the taller man's Adam's apple. "Boy Scout, you're gonna need more control."

_Right._

_Clark's slightly tight pants would have to wait._

**Author's Note:**

> I guess next one will get...spicy luvs. anyways, tell me what you think!


End file.
